


the way it should be

by annatheginger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Act III, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, Weddings, after "a bitter pill", also I know the title is a reference to one of aveline's quests but let's just ignore that shall we?, before "alone", fenris is so smitten oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annatheginger/pseuds/annatheginger
Summary: “I can’t ask you to wait for me,” he forces out, feeling his chest tighten at the thought of her on the arm of another.That vision from Aveline’s wedding comes back full-force, the image of Hawke walking down the aisle towards him, swathed in white, smile more brilliant than the sun."But I want you," he says.I need you."I want to pretend I deserve you. I want to pretend you will always be mine.”“No need to pretend,” she says. “I’ll always be yours.”





	1. flower

He found her waiting by the chapel doors with the other women, eyes darting around nervously and teeth worrying her bottom lip. As she shifted slightly from side to side, her pale blue dress swished against her thighs rhythmically, like the gentle waves of an ocean.  
  
Walking over to catch her attention, he offered a small smile, the softest curve of his lips in a gesture of comfort. She could barely smile back, small hands clutching tightly at her bouquet of white flowers.  
  
“Why are you so worried?” he asked, tilting his head inquisitively.  
  
“...I’ve never been in a wedding,” she admitted in a small voice, blue eyes flickering to the chapel doors. “What if I make a fool of myself?”  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
She absentmindedly plucked out a single flower from her bouquet, slim fingers twisting the stem. “How do you know? Do I look alright? Presentable?" she asked, and Fenris thought the question to be absurd.  _Presentable._  "Is my hair okay?” She added, and her hand was then fidgeting with her bangs, brushing them away from her forehead.  
  
“Emeline,” he murmured, his voice lower than initially intended. “You look… beautiful.”  
  
Her hands froze for the briefest of moments at the words  _(beautiful, beautiful, beautiful - as if she were anything less),_  and he immediately felt like a fool. But then he saw a pink flush stain her cheeks, and she smiled.  
  
“Thank you,” she accepted the compliment, her hand continuing to thumb at the lone white flower.  
  
“Here,” he said, taking it from her nervous, fiddling fingers. She watched with wide eyes as he reached his hand up to her face, tucking the delicate stem behind her ear. “Now stop worrying.”  
  
She grinned at the gesture, another sweet blush spreading across her face. “Thank you, Fenris,” she murmured, her voice soft and kind. With her hand free, she clasped it around her bouquet with the other, holding it in front of her body.   
  
He nodded with a smile, letting the tense silence fall between them. Resisting the urge to reach up and touch her again - her cheek, her chin, her  _lips_  - he simply resorted to tracing the lines of her face with his eyes, the soft, sweeping curves of her jaw, the sweet roundness of her eyes, the sharp, tall contours of her cheekbones.  
  
It was strange to note the new lines on her face, the marks of stress that hadn’t been there seven years ago. She looked more tired most days, especially with the increased tension between Orsino and Meredith. But despite having aged, having been worn down, Fenris had still never seen something more beautiful than her.  
  
“Fenris,” she whispered, flustered but not breaking eye contact. “You’re staring.”  
  
“I-” he began to apologize, to make a quick excuse, but he was cut off by a strong hand clasping his shoulder.  
  
Though he immediately turned to Donnic, dressed in handsome finery as opposed to his usual guard platemail, he could still see Emeline’s amused smile in his peripheral.   
  
“Ready?” the groom asked, though it almost seemed like he was asking himself. “It’s time to go.”  
  
After settling at the front of the chapel with Donnic, Varric, Anders (the Diamondback crew), and a few other groomsmen (other guards, Fenris believed), he stared into the small group of people in the pews, dressed finely with smiles on their faces.  
  
The music began, and bridesmaids began walking down the aisle, familiar white bouquets held in delicate hands. Merrill practically floated down the aisle, her swishing blue dress nearly drowning her slim legs. Isabela followed with a cocky grin, and, somehow, she managed to make the modest bridesmaid dress outrageously revealing. When she noticed Donnic’s wide-eyed stare, she offered a wink to the baffled groom.   
  
A guardswoman he barely recognized trailed behind Isabela, and then they appeared.  
  
First, he noticed Aveline - the strong, hard-headed Captain draped in a surprising amount of lace. She looked stunning, obviously, with her curves unusually accented in sheets of white. And though the dress was feminine and graceful, it was practical and simple in true Aveline fashion.  
  
Then his eyes caught the glowing maid-of-honor, linked arm-in-arm with the bride.  
  
Emeline moved down the aisle with a smile more radiant than anything he had ever seen. With the white flower tucked behind her ear, stark against the brightness of her auburn hair, she was nothing short of beautiful, a mesmerizing sight he would never be able to forget.   
  
Flashes of another wedding came to mind, a wedding in which Emeline was the one draped in white, an angel walking down the aisle to her groom, to… to…  
  
The thought of anyone else waiting for her at the altar made his chest ache.  
  
The two women arrived at the end of the aisle, prompting the Sister to ask: “Who gives this woman to this man?”  
  
“I do,” Emeline answered confidently, looking proudly at Aveline. The bride smiled back, her eyes already brimming with tears. “Her family does.”  
  
_Her family does_. Somehow, Fenris knew that she referred to all of them, the “merry band of misfits” that had fallen together thanks to her. She was the force of gravity, the graceful center that pulled them all together.  
  
And with those words, Aveline took Donnic’s hand, adding one more member to the best family Fenris would ever know.


	2. drink

It was hours into the reception, yet the revelries seemed as lively as ever. The guests danced and dipped in the middle of the estate’s courtyard, lounging and laughing at the makeshift bar. Drinks were abundant, and companionship was even more so.

Fenris brought the frosted mug back to his lips, the rush of ale sweeter and cleaner than he was accustomed to. It was a finer brew than the Hanged Man provided, a luxury Hawke had imported specifically for this occasion.

From his place at the bar, he could catch Varric at one of the fancier tables, most likely regaling an inflated tale to the small crowd he had amassed, while Isabela was already draped over some random groomsman with that lusty spark in her gaze. Merrill danced lithely with Donnic, seeming to have abandoned her sheepish demeanor from the beginning of the night, while Aveline only laughed at the strange sight.

And Emeline…?

“Fenris!” a familiar voice said, louder than usual in order to be heard over the thrumming music. “There you are!” Her speech was slightly muddled by now, likely a result of round after round of drinks.

He turned to her, mouth curving into a grin. “Here I am,” he echoed, surprised by how not-slurred his words were, considering how much alcohol he had already consumed.

“Are you having fun?” she asked, placing her drained wineglass onto the bar and draping an arm over his shoulder. He was briefly stunned by her closeness, her heady scent - a mix of elfroot, sweat, and something distinctly hers - sweet, like honey. He remembered how her smell seemed to linger on his body, even days afterwards...

“I am,” he admitted over an involuntary blush, wrapping his arm around her waist - a suave distraction from his embarrassment. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

She responded with a proud grin, letting her head tip to lean against his. “She deserves everything I can give,” she added, eyes flickering to the bride briefly.

“Mm,” Fenris hummed, enjoying the feel of her against him. He loved the casual touches she always offered, kind and welcoming and addictive, even after everything he had done to her. “I have to admit - the father-daughter dance was… interesting,” he said slowly, feeling pleased when her face flushed.

It was a tradition Aveline had originally opposed, obviously, since her father was absent. Hawke, however, was very persuasive and  _insisted_ on taking her father’s place to give her away at the ceremony and dance with her at the reception.

“ _Only the best for my baby girl_ ,” Emeline had teased, evoking a snort from the Guard-Captain.

“ _You’re ridiculous_ ,” Aveline had added, though she had relented without much fuss.

“Yes, well. My  _daughter_ seemed to enjoy it,” Emeline pouted, shaking her head against his.

“That, she did.”

The bartender brought two more ales over to the two of them without asking, wordlessly responding to their empty glasses. Emeline thanked him cheerfully, picking up her drink and bringing it to her lips. Her head still rested against his as she drank, and when she placed her mug back down, a bit of foam lined her upper lip.

Grinning, Fenris brought his thumb to her mouth, swiping at the foam before bringing it to his lips. She couldn’t help but watch his every movement as he did so, following his thumb and lingering on his mouth.

“Aren’t… aren’t you going to drink yours?” she asked, her voice pointedly more breathless.

“Of course,” he purred, pleased with himself. “Although I should probably slow down, soon.”

“It’s a celebration, Fenris!” she laughed heartily, sipping at her ale again. “That means you should drink until you can’t stand.”

He chuckled back, the sound low and throaty, but he complied with a swig of his own beverage.

They let their conversation die down comfortably, taking a moment to simply enjoy listening to the music permeating Hawke’s courtyard. As the song ended with a flourish, the band changed the mood to something slower, leisurely, offering the bride and groom a chance to mold against each other and whisper sweet nothings back and forth. Somehow, it seemed unfitting for the Guard-Captain and her Guardsman, but they twirled together onto the dancefloor, nonetheless, with vibrant grins on their faces.

Fenris could feel the vibrations from Emeline’s body as she hummed along with the familiar melody, a tune she had likely heard at the various functions she attended as the Champion.

Luckily for all of her friends, tonight she was only Emeline - friend,  _father_ , family, lover…

She placed her delicate hand on his forearm, her thumb lightly tracing one of the lyrium lines on his skin. It was such a simple gesture - and likely innocent, too - but it sent tingles up his arm, jolts of pleasure and familiarity.

“Do you want to dance?” she murmured to him, her lips so, so close to his ear. After trying and failing to suppress a shiver, he brought his gaze back to her face. She was still looking at the dance floor, at the bride and groom clinging to each other with everything they had.

“I’m glad  _you_  are asking  _me_ , this time,” he mused, referencing their first and last dance over a couple years ago. His offhanded comment likely brought the memory of their first kiss to both of their minds, spurred on by the heated, hungry dance they shared the night before.

It brought that hunger back, full-force. It was probably careless of him to feel this way and to act on it, especially after he had bedded her and left her behind - but they were both tipsy, and he wanted nothing more than to grip her skin with bare hands and press her hips tightly against his own.

“Well, are you going to dance with me, or not?” she asked, snorting derisively in response to his teasing. Still, she couldn’t hide the deepening flush on her cheeks, a reaction that was  _definitely_ not from the alcohol.

“How could I refuse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, when Fenris references his first dance/first kiss with Hawke, it's a throwback to a couple other prompts I wrote before these three. If you're interested, their first dance is [drum](https://www.deviantart.com/annatheginger/art/Day-28-Drum-560588975) and their first kiss is [first](https://www.deviantart.com/annatheginger/art/Day-29-First-561315250) (aptly named, I know)
> 
> Check em out if you so desire <3


	3. tonight

They had been in this position before, with her back crashing against the wall, a soft noise leaving her lips at the force. His mouth was back on hers in an instant, swallowing the sound and drawing deeper ones from her throat. He was greedy, starving for her touch, fingers digging into the silky material of her dress and pulling her closer and closer still.

“Fenris…” she ground out, gasping when he moved to her neck and lightly bit the skin there. “Fenris, what are we doing…?”

He hummed against her skin and nipped her again, drawing out another moan. Before she could stop herself, her fingers tangled into his white hair, holding him tightly to her body.

“This is… this is a bad idea, right?”

He was surprised she could still form cohesive thoughts with the alcohol and lust running through both their veins. Together, they had slipped away from the reception without any ulterior motives - other than a desire to talk alone.

But they had drunk too much ale at the party, making them careless and more aware of the tension, the pulling between them. Before either of them could stop and think, she was in his arms and locked to his lips, allowing herself to be led backwards and pressed against the wall of her study.

She was right, of course. This was a bad,  _bad_ idea. He had already bedded her once, bedded her and left with nothing more than a meager excuse, one that she still gracefully accepted.

This was a bad idea, yet neither of them were slowing. Their need for one another was stronger than ever, even if they knew it was just for tonight.

Fenris was still chased by ghosts, haunted by a past he could barely remember. This could change nothing; he still had nothing but hesitation and fear to offer, and he couldn’t…

Her tongue ran along the shell of his ear, and all other thoughts fled him.

He growled into the pale flesh at the hollow of her throat, cursing softly. “I need you,” was all he could say, all he could convey with the rest of his mind so far gone.

“I need-” Her words cut off with a groan as he tugged down the collar of her dress, baring her chest for him to nip at. “ _Please_.”

He looked up at her, silently inquiring -  _what do you need?_

“Just for tonight-ah!” she hissed, stopping with a gasp as he ran his tongue around her nipple. “Mm… tonight, let me pretend you’re  _mine_.”

The words send an electric pulse through his entire body, his movements freezing for an indiscernible moment. He had been claimed many times before, heard the word  _mine_ leave cocky lips more times than he could count, never with any warmth. Hearing it from her should still make him shudder away, but…

Her words were awestruck, heated, vulnerable - almost a question, if he picked the syllable apart. She wasn’t claiming him as a possession, as a valuable asset. He was her friend, her equal, her lover - and staking her claim on him simply meant y _ou are not for anyone else. Only I can love you like this._

But she had asked him to  _pretend_ , that absurd woman - pretend as if he hadn’t loved her for years and years, as if she didn’t steal his breath by simply being.

And,  _Maker_ , if only she knew-

He had always been hers. There was nothing to pretend.

Even if she couldn’t tell her - not  _yet_ \- he would show her tonight.

He brought his lips back to hers briefly before he swept her into his arms, bridal style. As he carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, Emeline took the opportunity to trace a lyrium line with her tongue - along the column of his throat. In response, he shuddered and quickened his pace, practically stumbling up the stairs as his body ached for her.

Slamming the bedroom door behind them with his foot, he pulled them both onto the bed - her body splayed above his, subtly giving her control. She grinned that beautiful, brilliant smile at him before leaning down to kiss him again, her cascading orange hair veiling their faces.

He could feel her grind against his clothed length, making him groan into her mouth and grab at her hips. She smiled against his lips, letting her fingers tangle in his hair and tug slightly.

In a blur of fumbling hands and torn seams, he could only watch - enraptured - as she pushed herself upright in his lap. Reaching down to take him in her hand, Emeline released a slow, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, her expression one of a woman on the edge of a precipice, gathering enough courage to jump.

“Hawke-” Fenris choked out, feeling his head sober slightly at the way her body trembled. He tightened his grip on her waist to still her, waiting until she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Emeline, is this what you want?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, blinking at him with unveiled surprise. “Of course,” she answered quietly, honestly. “I just know what’s going to happen afterwards, and I…”

It felt like he had been punched directly in the gut, chest aching at the defeat laced in her words. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, her hands resting lamely in her naked lap.

“Emeline,” he murmured again. “Look at me. Please.”

She complied, though not without obvious hesitation.

“I  _am_ yours,” he said with conviction. “Even if I can’t-”

Her lips were on his again, stealing the words from his lips and the breath from his lungs. “I know,” she hummed, her mouth barely touching his. “I do.”

“I can’t ask you to wait for me,” he forced out, feeling his chest tighten at the thought of his Emeline on the arm of another. That vision from Aveline’s wedding came back full-force, the image of Emeline walking down the aisle towards him, swathed in white, smile more brilliant than the sun. “But I want you. Tonight, I want to pretend I deserve you.” His words were sadly reminiscent of hers. “I want to pretend that you’ll always be mine.”

Her mouth twisted into an agonized grimace. Without warning, he felt the soft, unforgiving coolness of her tears landing on his cheeks. Somehow, they seemed to burn his skin. "You don't have to pretend,” she admitted, her words laced with bitterness. The confession was soft and sharp all at once, evoking a mixture of relief and guilt that stabbed his heart.  “I’ll always be yours.”

Before he could think of how much those words must hurt her, how much that realization must break her heart, how  _he_  must be breaking her heart all over again, her lips were back on his, cutting off any further discussion. "I want-" she says against his mouth, simply, and then her hands were fumbling against him again, movements uncoordinated and desperate.

When she sank onto him, taking him within her slowly and completely, her whole body shuddered with the motion, a tiny sigh the only sound leaving her lips.

He moaned loudly in relief, head falling back onto the pillows as the feeling of her overwhelmed his senses, his thoughts. She felt better than he remembered - soft, warm, familiar - like coming home.

Then she started to move, rocking forward, stuttering in his lap as sensation consumed her like wildfire, those flames fanning down her thighs and licking at his skin.

“Fenris-” she breathed, bracing her palms on his chest as she set a leisurely pace. “ _Maker_ , you feel so good.”

Her voice, breathy and overcome, only served to undo him even further. It was the sound of his name on her lips, her unabashed pleasure making her clench around him. It was too much.

 _Mine, mine, mine,_ he thought, fingers digging into the plush flesh at her hips. Reaching up, he framed her face in his hands and pulled her down, resting her forehead on his own. _Mine,_  he thought again, and she cried out in response, nodding her head in agreement - had he said that aloud? “You’re  _mine."_

“I am,” she practically sobbed, picking up the pace. “I’m yours.”

He flipped them over, pressing Emeline’s back into the sheets as he plunged into her again. “And I’m yours.”

She quivered beneath him, her mouth falling open as she neared her end. He was so close behind her, hanging on by fraying thread as her body pulsed around him, her hips welcoming him in with every thrust.

Moving his hand between their heated bodies, he found her sensitive bundle of nerves and pressed down, her warmth clenching around him in response.

He quickened, his rhythm erratic and unsure as she fell, head thrown back and cry ripped from her lips. He followed only moments later, holding her as close as physically possible as he shuddered his release with a sigh - quietly, quelled. The white light in his vision gave way to fireworks, to brilliant pleasure. There were no flashes of a life he no longer knew, a life he no longer held. It was peaceful and overwhelming all at once.

They breathed heavily, lips barely touching as they came down from their high. Fenris rolled to his side, keeping her wrapped in his arms as he moved.

Her eyes were already closed when he looked down at her, her sweet face gentle and relaxed. She looked content, sated, softened, her cheeks still flushed a delicate pink from alcohol and sex.

He thought her to be asleep, though he heard her murmur only moments later, “I’d wait forever for this.” The words were barely a whisper, but he heard them, nonetheless. “For you.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest, swelling into a delicate hope he had no reason to deserve. He tightened his arms around his small mage, kissing the top of her head when he could find no words to speak.

_This is the way it should be._

Soon, he would be able to embrace what should be, what was meant to be - remain in her arms, hold her close to him for an eternity -  _an angel draped in white, flowers in hand, smile brighter than any star._

Soon, he would approach her as a complete man, as a man no longer burdened by invisible chains and unforgiving claims. 

Soon, he would be able to give himself to her wholly, without hesitation or fear or guilt or bitterness. 

Soon, but not yet.

For now, they had tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> This three part mini-story was written as three prompts for the 100 theme challenge I was writing over on deviantart. I liked these three a lot, so I decided to post them here as a separate, cohesive story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> (And if you want to read more of the prompts I wrote, here's the folder for the rest over on dA right [here](https://annatheginger.deviantart.com/gallery/43667354/100-Theme-Challenge). Just a disclaimer - I'm STILL writing them, so there's nowhere near 100 of them yet haha, and some of the first ones are VERY old so don't judge)


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